


It Lies Behind Stars

by FestiveFerret



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And Tony is Ready To Give It To Him, And they don't know if the serum will fix it or not, Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blindness, Comforting Tony, Dinosaur Gummies, Disability, Falling In Love, Feels, Flirting, Get Together, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Steve, Injury, Lashing Out, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Panic, Panic Attacks, References to PTSD, References to Suicide, Romance, Senses, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Support, Uncertainty, and he doesn't handle it well, negative self-talk, steve gets hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 19:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15517389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret
Summary: There wasn't anything about this mission that was obviously different from the others. There was no moment of realization, no heartbeat when it all became clear that he should have turned left instead of right. He just… wasn't fast enough this time.





	It Lies Behind Stars

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Steve experiences a lot of self-hate and grief over being injured, and his pov uses a lot of nasty, negative self-talk as a result. He knows it's not healthy, but he is struggling emotionally and lashes out towards himself and other people. Warnings for negative self-talk referencing disabilities.
> 
> Also warnings for references to and mentions of suicide.
> 
> If anyone wants a spoiler as to whether Steve's injury is permanent or not, click through to the end notes.
> 
> Thank you to ashes0909 for beta <3
> 
> This is for my bingo square "who you are in the dark"

"Froot loops are by far the strangest breakfast cereal," Tony proclaimed from in front of the cart.

Steve considered two boxes of cheerios, trying to remember if Bruce liked sweetened or not. "Why?"

"Because they don't even spell fruit right. You know that nothing in this box is even tangentially related to fruit. Why'd they name it that at all?"

Steve lifted another box. "Right? I mean, this one doesn't even have any Captains in it."

"You leave Capt'n Crunch out of this. He has enough on his mind."

"What with commanding his fleet and all that."

"Exactly. You of all people should know to respect veterans."

Steve considered the box art. "Actually, according to his outfit, he's only a commander."

Tony slapped a hand against his chest in mock shock. "That's outrageous."

Steve tossed both boxes of cheerios in the cart. Someone would eat them. Tony jiggled his foot against the wheels. 

"Why did you insist on coming shopping with me, again?" Steve asked playfully, enjoyed the flash of delight in Tony's eyes at the banter.

Tony leaned over the front of the cart. "Because, if unmonitored, you eat like a teenage boy whose parents went away for the weekend and left him their credit card 'for emergencies.' Sometimes I honestly wonder if you think that pizza pops are the best invention of the last seventy years."

"Well, the polio vaccine isn't too bad, but the pizza is  _ inside _ the dough, Tony. And you can  microwave it."

"See, this is my point. I'm here to make sure you buy kale."

"Kale is on your organic vegetable delivery order. We don't need to buy kale."

"Then I'm here to make sure you don't buy  _ this." _ Tony tugged a box of dinosaur-shaped gummies out from under a precarious stack of tuna cans.

"Those are a delicacy," Steve insisted.

"Oh yeah? I bet they don't even taste like real velociraptor."

Steve tapped the side of the box where it said,  _ made from 100% natural fruit juices. _ "At least they have more fruit than the loops." 

"But at what cost, Steve, at what cost?"

Steve started to push the cart, and Tony let himself be urged backwards down the aisle. "We need peanut butter."

They continued their shopping, the bickering bouncing down aisle after aisle, and Steve buzzed with the pleasure of getting Tony all to himself for an hour - maybe two if they really couldn't agree on a flavour of jam to buy - and the pleasure of knowing that Tony was only here because he wanted to be, too. Someday, someday soon, when the flirting and little glances and stolen touches bloomed into something more, Steve would have Tony all to himself all the time. But for now, they were still dancing. 

Steve stretched high over Tony to grab oats from the top shelf, and Tony shifted slightly under his arm, brushing his shoulder against Steve's chest so they'd spark off, eyes meeting.

Steve loved this game. He'd never had a chance to play before. Peggy had been like getting hit by a truck, and then it was all over before it got to start. But he and Tony had time and space, two things they'd never had during the war, and they saw each other every day. It was _fun._ And as much as he wanted to know what Tony felt like in his arms, tasted like on his tongue, Steve had no desire to rush this to its natural destination. Tony looked up at him from under his eyelashes, and Steve's heart did a jig against his lungs. 

God, he was so  _ beautiful.  _ Everything about Tony made Steve thrum with a warm, heady desire, and he knew he wasn't the only one feeling it. That was the other thing about falling in towards Tony - Tony wore his heart so obviously on his sleeve that Steve never wondered for a moment if he was the only one building these feelings brick by brick. Half the time, it seemed like they were handing the mortar back and forth between them. It was only a matter of time, really…

Steve wobbled in towards Tony, eyes on his lips, and Tony smirked, one eyebrow cocking up in a dare.  _ At the grocery store?  _ It said.  _ Really, Steve?  _

Steve sucked in a breath and leaned away again, tossing the oats in the cart. He would  _ not  _ give in and kiss Tony at the grocery store. He'd find the right moment, and it would be perfect, everything he never got to have before. 

They finished their shopping and made their way back to the tower, every glance, every touch, electric. Back home, the whole team gathered to watch the latest episodes of each of their favourite shows - a weekly ritual - and Steve and Tony automatically took seats beside each other. 

It was even more intense in the flickering light of the TV screen, Tony's face in only highlights and shadows, no midtones. Their bodies were pressed tightly together on the couch, and Steve thought about how daring it would feel, how  _ incredible  _ to reach out and slip his hand into Tony's, rest them both, clasped, on Tony's thigh. 

The TV was nothing but background music to a performance of a different kind, a dance that would be reaching its climax, inevitably and soon. But for now, Steve was loving the build-up.

Cupboards full of dinosaur gummies and happy memories, Steve went to bed that night with a smile on his face. He would have woken up with one too, if the Avengers alarm hadn't sliced through his REM cycle and rocketed him out of bed, halfway through a soft dream of reaching out and pulling a cheeky smirk against his own.

**

There wasn't anything about the mission that was obviously different from the others. There was no moment of realization, no heartbeat when it all became clear that he should have turned left instead of right. He just… wasn't fast enough this time.

And when the room exploded around him, when the ceiling crashed down, flames licking up against his skin, and the world flickered and disappeared, Steve wasn't thinking about where he'd gone wrong. He wasn't thinking about what he should have done differently. 

He was thinking about brown eyes and a soft smile.

He was thinking about opportunities, and how easily they're missed.

**

Steve woke up one small piece at a time. 

First, there was a beeping by his left ear. A persistent noise, like the buzzing of an insect, that he couldn't seem to get rid of. He tried to lift his arm to swat the sound away, but it was still asleep.

Steve hung in the beeping for a while.

Then there were voices, soft, like he was hearing them from underwater. But he knew those voices. He tried to swim up towards them, kick his feet, but his legs were still asleep. 

The sound was comforting, though.

When he did wake up fully, it took him a long time to realize that he wasn't still sleeping because the room was completely pitch black. By then, he'd realized that it was a hospital room - it had to be - but he'd never been in a hospital room that managed to be anywhere near this dark. He blinked, willing his pupils to dilate and catch the glow of a clock or street light leaking in from a crack in the blinds, but there was nothing - just empty space.

"Steve?"

Steve turned towards the noise - Natasha's voice, he now realized - but he couldn't pick her shape out in the darkness. "Nat?"

"Oh, Steve, thank god. Do you feel okay? Are you in a lot of pain?"

Steve rolled the question around. It took a moment to run through his mind, like the cogs and gears of his thoughts were running on half-time. "No? I'm not in pain." He was, but no more than after a good fight. He knew he was already healing; he'd be fine again in no time. "Why is it so dark in here?"

Natasha's fingers curled around his, and Steve jumped, blinking violently in her direction. "Steve…"

"What's going on?" Every muscle in Steve's body tensed, ready to fight, ready to run. His heart started pounding, flooding adrenaline through his veins until he couldn't sit still if he wanted to.

"Steve." He heard Nat take a deep breath. "You were hurt. In the explosion. Badly. It's not dark in here, it's the middle of the day. Thursday. You - your optic nerve was damaged. You can't see."

"What? The serum…"

"The serum is doing its best." Tony's voice came from Steve's other side, and he startled up, squeezing Nat's hand too hard. She let out a sharp breath, but didn't say a word. "Sorry!" Tony said immediately. "I'm so sorry. I just came in. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You -" Steve dropped Nat's hand and squirmed back on his bed "- didn't."

All was silent for a moment, then Tony spoke again, softer this time, and Steve hated how the gentle words grated against him. "I just talked to the doctor again. They can't do any surgeries. Basically, the explosion caused massive blunt force trauma to your face. The serum healed everything simple, everything superficial - don't worry big guy, you're as handsome as ever -" Steve tried to smile instead of grimace but wasn't sure he succeeded "- but the optic nerve is a tricky one and there's not really anything they can do. Either the serum will heal it or it won't. It'll just take time."

Steve swallowed heavily. Dread slid up his spine, cold and shivery. "It'll just take time…" he echoed.

"No one knows how this is going to go," Nat said. "You're a first for everyone. But you've healed complicated things before, so they have high hopes."

"Okay," Steve said, the way he'd said it when the recruitment office had given him 4-F yet again, the way he'd said it when they'd told him they wouldn't go after the 107th. "Okay."

"Good news, though!" Tony clapped his hands together. "We can take you home. They said you're free to move around and exercise as long as you're gentle with yourself. They have drugs they normally give, and they gave me some for you, but it was a resounding 'shrug' as to whether they'd actually help. People don't usually recover at all from trauma like this, so there's not a lot to go on. You're already leaps ahead."

"Okay," Steve repeated, the way he had when the doctors had told him his mom wasn't going to be waking up. "Let's go home then."

The tension in the room was palpable - bitter and metallic - and Steve sensed that Nat and Tony were sharing a look, but he ignored it, pushing himself up and onto the edge of the bed. He felt a bit shaky, a bit off-kilter, but not as badly as he expected, considering he'd been blown up. Thursday, Nat had said; he'd been out for two days, healing. 

"How long?" he asked.

"What?"

"How long do they think it'll take? How long before they give up on my eyesight coming back?"

The tension deepened. 

"I don't know. I'll ask." Tony's hand landed on Steve's shoulder, making him snap out of the intangible nothing into real and present, and Steve tried not to jump. "I need to run back to the tower to get a few things ready before you come home, okay? And you just woke up, you should rest for a bit. I'll come back in a few hours, and we'll bring you home together."

Steve slumped back down on the bed. He blinked his eyes, but the room was still in absolute darkness. "Okay," he said.

Tony left, and Nat settled on the bed beside him, her small frame curled up against his ribs, her hand wound through his. If she saw the tears that leaked from his broken eyes and rolled over his cheeks, she didn't say anything. If she watched him cry, he'd never know.

**

Steve woke up in the pitch black, drowning.

Water rushed into his lungs and he kicked furiously but he couldn't find the surface. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, everything was -

He hit the ground with a thud that ricocheted up his spine and crawled until he found a corner then turned his back to it. The room was full of staring, glaring eyes he couldn't see, advancing, attacking. He couldn't hear anything except the blaring of the Avengers alarm but he didn't know where his shield was, wouldn't be able to find it in the dark anyway. Not that it mattered, because they were already here.

Cold, sharp fingers skated up his calf, and Steve kicked out with a yelp, feeling his foot connect with soft flesh and hard bone. A yell cut through the alarm, and it stuttered and broke into the pounding of Steve's heart. 

"Steve! Stop!"

He stilled and curled back into the corner. He tried to speak, but he wasn't sucking in enough air with each breath to push words out. He sucked harder, faster, trying to find the oxygen, but iron bands clenched around his chest and every breath seemed to squeeze them tighter. 

"Steve, you're okay. It's Tony. You're in the tower, in your apartment. You're okay. Just breathe, okay?"

_ I'm trying,  _ Steve tried to growl out, but it wouldn't come. He tipped his head forward onto his knees and squeezed his eyes shut so his body would stop screaming in panic that he was trapped in the dark.  _ You're hyperventilating,  _ he told himself as calmly as he could.  _ Stop.  _

It took a few minutes for the message to get through, and every time he started to calm, he'd think about ghostly hands reaching out of the jet black space to touch him and start ramping up again. But Steve managed to get his pants slow enough that his head stopped spinning and his lungs stopped screaming.

"Steve?"

"Tony, what the fuck are you doing here?" Steve growled, wishing he could level a glare in his direction but keeping his forehead pressed to his knees instead. Panic drained away slowly, leaving utter humiliation behind, like driftwood washed up on shore after a storm. He still felt like the room was watching him - and if Tony had managed to get in here without him hearing, anyone else could have too.

"JARVIS called me. He said you were hurt."

"I'm not hurt," Steve snapped out in a whip crack. "Get out."

"You're having a pani-"

"I'm fine." Steve pushed to his knees, furiously ignoring the shaking in his hands. "It was a dream. Get out." Steve's neck flushed without his permission, and he withered at the thought of Tony staring at him in pity, in horror. He just wanted to be left to struggle through this by himself; there wasn't anything Tony could do. "Just leave. Please."

"Okay… I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Steve didn't reply, and a moment later, he heard the door open and close. Steve's heart was still pounding, and his skin crawled with the knowledge that he wasn't alone. 

"Captain Rogers?"

Steve's heart jumped into overdrive at the sound, but it calmed again quickly when he recognized the voice as JARVIS'. "JARVIS?"

"Mr. Stark asked me to remind you that I'm at your complete disposal, sir, should there be anything I can assist you with."

It felt pointed, and now that Tony wasn't here, Steve was starting to find the empty room even more disconcerting than showing his fear in front of someone else. "Like what?"

"Well, I can tell you the date and time, for instance. The weather. Read you the news. Mr. Stark occasionally asks me to tell him where he is, especially when he's woken from a nightmare or suffers a panic attack. I can tell you where the other members of the tower are, up to a certain point of personal privacy."

"Tony doesn't know where he is sometimes?"

"Mr. Stark has suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder since his time in Afghanistan. He occasionally has flashbacks and upsetting dreams, and I assist him in any way that I can."

Steve swallowed heavily, shifting around so he was sitting more comfortably with his back against the bed. "You shouldn't be telling me that, JARVIS."

"Not to worry. Mr. Stark has already given me authorization to share this information with you."

"Oh." Steve worried at his thumb with the fingers of the other hand. There was a small nick in his nail and he picked at it. The humiliation from earlier flared again. Steve had yelled at him, told him to leave. He felt awful in every possible way. "So, um, what time is it?"

"It is two-thirty-four in the morning, sir. Friday, June seventeenth."

"Oh." It was the middle of the night. That explained why Tony had seen confused and flustered. JARVIS must have woken him up, concerned about Steve. "Why did you call Tony when I woke up?"

"I have several emergency protocols for the occupants of the tower and most of them involve contacting another member of the team in times of extreme distress. Your vital signs were worrisome and when you wouldn't respond to my queries I deemed it a health emergency."

"Queries? You were talking to me?"

"Yes, sir."

Steve instantly forgave JARVIS for calling Tony in. If one of his teammates were unresponsive, he'd want to know too. But it didn't make it any less embarrassing. "Can you please tell Tony I'm sorry that I yelled. He startled me. And can you also, um, alter your parameters for an emergency a bit? As much as I hate to say it… I think that might not be the last time I wake up like that…"

"Of course, Captain. I've readjusted what I consider a dangerous threshold based on today's data. Do you wish for me to make a different teammate your contact in case of emergency? Agent Romanov, perhaps?"

Steve's heart twisted painfully. He didn't want that. He didn't want that at all. He wanted Tony here with him, sleeping beside him. He wanted to be able to  _ see his damn face,  _ but he couldn't, and he didn't want Tony to see him like this. Nat would be good… She'd be calm and quiet and simple and get him steady again and then leave. It wouldn't be as embarrassing to come back into himself and have Nat's easy voice in his ear. 

But Tony would know, and it would tear him apart. He wouldn't say anything, wouldn't throw it in Steve's face or accuse him of anything, but he'd notice. And he'd take it as the blow it would be. That Steve couldn't trust him. That Steve didn't want his help.

"No… Tony is okay. But only call him if I'm really in danger. I don't want anyone here when it's just - uh - a panic attack." Because, he realized now, that's what it had been.

"Absolutely, sir."

Steve sat in silence for a while longer, the back of his neck prickling agonizingly. He couldn't bring himself to slide back up on the bed again. "JARVIS?" he finally asked. 

"Yes, sir?"

"Who else is in here with me?" He could feel their eyes on the back of his head, staring, glaring.

"You are in your apartment alone, sir. And the door is locked. It can only be opened with your permission or in case of emergency." There was a short pause. "I've taken the liberty of doing an additional heat signature scan and I can assure you that besides your potted jade plant in the kitchen, you are the only one here, Captain."

Relief flushed over Steve, curling around him like a blanket straight out of the dryer. "Thank you, JARVIS."

"Any time at all, sir."

It took another forty-five minutes - Steve checked with JARVIS every ten or so to see how long it had been - for Steve to push himself up and crawl into his bed again. He didn't sleep, but he dozed comfortably for a few hours, finally feeling some comfort in the rest.

**

JARVIS alerted Steve at eight thirty the next morning, as Steve had asked him to. They played twenty questions as Steve shuffled his way into his bathroom until Steve was confident of the date, the time, his location, that no one else was in his apartment, and where everyone else in the tower was. 

All Steve wanted to do was curl up in a pile of blankets and pillows and pretend that he couldn't see because it was dark and not because his body was failing him. But he knew that would draw his teammates to his apartment, pity palpable in the air around them, and as much as he wanted to hide, he wanted to suffer their sympathy even less. 

He forced himself to get out of bed. 

Getting dressed was like a game of hot-and-cold with JARVIS, fumbling his way to the dresser drawers and then holding up bits of fabric at random until the AI assured him he had a t-shirt and jeans. 

When the elevator doors opened on the common room floor, Steve couldn't make his feet move. He didn't know who else was in the room, didn't know where the furniture was, if he was about to walk into something or tumble into a hole that had opened up in the floor overnight. He hung, caught like a spider in a web in the doorway, until Bruce called out, "Hey, Steve," and he was forced to move.

His steps felt clunky and awkward, and he didn't resist the urge to reach out and drag his fingers along the wall as he moved. "Bruce," he said, pleased that it didn't come out shaken up and cracked at the edges. "I'm glad you're okay. I realized I forgot to ask that everyone else was okay."

"We're all fine." 

Steve tilted his ear towards the voice - Clint. "Good."

"Hungry?" Nat asked.

"Not really." Steve waved his hand around until his fingertips smacked into a chair then eased himself into it. He heard the whole room tense, shift towards him, then still as he moved, no doubt struggling with knowing when to help and when to not. But it was just as bad that they wanted to, that it was a question they had to ask. Their attention on him was like a physical weight resting on his shoulders, and he didn't even have the relief of watching them turn away and shift their focus elsewhere. For him, they were always staring.

And then the worst eyes possible entered the room: Tony's.

"Hey, Steve," he said, overly chipper, almost surprised, and Steve winced.

"Good morning." He sounded awkwardly formal even to himself, and he swallowed back the urge to say anymore, lest he make it worse. A spot deep in his chest ached. It ached for the mornings when they'd exchange cheeky glances over their coffee, steal toast off each others plates, and shift into each other's space as they cleaned up their dishes. Steve mourned for the loss of those moments like a death, a hole carved into his life that used to be filled with Tony.

And now it was empty. And it would stay that way because Tony would never see him the same way again, and Steve might never see Tony again at all.

The back of Steve's useless eyes prickled hot and he dropped his chin towards the table. The team was talking about training protocol, but Steve wasn't really listening. What did it matter anyway? He couldn't be an Avenger like this, couldn't be anything like this.

Thor ended up presenting Steve with a plate of toast anyway, because Thor didn't know how else to fix things besides with food. And Steve took it because he'd chipped dents in too many of his relationships already since the explosion. He worked through the toast, bland and dry, sucking the moisture out of his tongue as he choked it down. When he stood with his plate, at least three other people stood with him, and he bit back the urge to shout, to tell them to fuck off, to throw the plate and storm out.

Not that he'd know which way to storm anyway.

Instead, Steve gripped the plate tighter, holding it close to his chest so no one would try to take it from him, and shuffled his way around the table to the kitchen. It wasn't that hard to move around the space he knew like the back of his hand, even accounting for the chairs being shoved out. He heard a soft squeak as he rounded the counter, and he was pretty sure someone had moved something for him, but he forced himself to ignore it as he found the edge of the sink. He rinsed his plate in silence then felt his way to the dishwasher and tugged it open. That was harder, since he had no idea how full it was, but when he asked, "Dirty or clean?" JARVIS replied with, "Dirty," and Steve slotted his plate in through feel alone and closed it.

His sense of triumph didn't last long, however.

The rest of the team stood with a screech of chairs and a clatter of dishes, orbiting around Steve in a way that made the back of his neck crackle. Tony excused himself to do some work, and Steve's heart skittered out after him, willing him to come back and wanting him to leave forever at the same time.

"Coming to the gym, Steve?" Clint asked, and a ripple of something pointed flickered around him.

"Sure." He wanted to move, to burn whatever was piling up inside him before it threatened to overflow.

"Will that not worsen your injuries?"' Thor asked.

"They said exercise was okay."

"Light exercise," Nat cautioned, slipping her hand arm around his and pulling him along with her. 

"I need to do  _ something,"  _ he said, softly enough that he hoped only she would hear.

She didn't answer, but squeezed him closer to her, and when they got to the gym, she handed him his boxing wraps. He slipped them on by feel, smoothing each one down carefully with his fingertips. He heard the rattle of a punching bag chain, then Thor's hands landed on the backs of Steve's shoulders. He allowed himself to be led across the room, trusting the way Thor wrapped completely around him.

"Here." Thor lifted Steve's arms from the wrist and tapped each one against the bag to show him how far away it was. "Let us know if you need assistance."

"Thank you, Thor," Steve said with honest gratitude.

He started lightly, half-listening to Clint, Thor, and Natasha setting up their drills on the other side of the gym. But it wasn't long before he slipped into the easy rhythm of working the bag, his footwork coming back automatically, even in the dark. He could do this with his eyes closed anyway - often did - so it felt right and real and normal to let them fall closed and draw power from his core up and out through each strike.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Nat called his name and he stilled.

"That doesn't really look 'light' to me," she said carefully.

But he was shaking now, and he couldn't stop, there was no way he could stop now. "I'm so  _ angry,  _ Nat. I've never been this angry in my life."

"It's okay to be angry," she said, skating her fingertips up his arm. "Kick the shit out of the punching bag if you need to, Steve."

"I need to."

"Okay." Her lips pressed against the back of his head. "JARVIS will help you back upstairs. Call me if you want to hang out later."

"I will." He wouldn't.

He followed her footsteps until they stilled and the elevator hummed to life. Then he stood and faced the punching bag again.

It was easy enough to fall into the rhythm, Steve's anger flaring and subsiding with every smash of his knuckles into the bag. The room was silent and dark and with no sense of the passing of time, Steve stayed, hitting over and over until his hands were numb and his arms plead for a break, but he didn't stop.

"You're bleeding."

Steve spun at the noise and stumbled backwards into the bag.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Tony said. "I keep doing that."

"How long have you been there?"' Steve tried to swallow back down the bitter rush of adrenaline that told him to fight his way free from imaginary bonds. 

"Only a few minutes." Tony shuffled where he stood but didn't seem to come any closer. "You're bleeding."

Steve twisted his hands together. He could feel the ripped edges of the wraps and his knuckles were wet and scabby under his fingertips. "It'll heal," Steve bit out. The room fell silent for a series of painful heartbeats.

"Oh, by the way, I asked," Tony said. "They said you should have some sight back in three to four days, but it might take up to two weeks to heal entirely."

Steve's fingers clenched around the torn wraps. His whole life rested on three to four days. Then what? "What if it doesn't?" he asked the room at large. "I'm useless like this," he spat out. Now that his hands had stilled, everything that had been put on pause during his workout welled up again. "I've got nothing."

"T-that's not true." Tony sounded winded, almost scared.

"It is." Steve ripped the rest of one of the wraps off and threw it aside. They all wanted to help him so badly - let someone else take care of it.

"You've got us, me. You've still got me."

Steve's jaw clenched until his teeth ached. "I don't." He ripped off the other wrap and threw it after the first then pushed to his feet. He didn't have Tony anymore - he'd ruined that. Was ruining it. He felt for the edges of their tissue paper relationship and tore into it with angry, raging claws, as if their burgeoning feelings were responsible for what had happened to him. "It's not the same. I can't be Captain America like this, Tony. I can't be anything. I'm broken, useless."

"You're not -"

"I don't want your pity!" Steve rounded on him, cheeks heating as he realized he had no idea where Tony was. Panic welled up again, the natural sheer terror of not knowing where he was. His breath chopped up into tiny pieces in his chest, struggling to flow in and out. "I don't - I -" He flinched back when he heard Tony move. "That explosion would have been better off just killing me," Steve snapped.

The room fell silent, and Steve could hear the flex and creak of something in Tony starting to crack. Maybe it was his feelings for Steve. "Steve you're scaring me," Tony said tensely.

Steve took aim, then put his fist into the weak point, shattering the remains of Tony's interest. "Well, contrary to popular belief, not everything is about you." He stumbled off towards the elevator, hating how stupid he felt easing his way along the wall until it opened into a doorway. 

Tony didn't say anything. He didn't come after him.

Steve stayed awake all night, pillows piled up behind his back so no one could creep up behind him. He watched the empty, black nothingness and shivered, wrapped in all his blankets, asking JARVIS every twenty minutes to make sure he was really alone.

**

The thing was, Tony didn't stop. He should have; Steve kept treating him like shit. It seemed that every time Steve opened his mouth around Tony he said something else hurtful or angry or insensitive. And Tony should have taken the hint, should have handed Steve off to Nat to care for, or JARVIS, and put space between them, to protect his own feelings if nothing else. 

But instead, he didn't stop.

He sought Steve out, finding him in his apartment on the morning of the second day. He was too bright, too much smile in his voice, too much fear in his fidgeting, but he was still trying, and Steve no longer had the energy to keep pushing him away.

Tony powered Steve through the next three days with relentless intensity that made Steve feel a bit like he was on the roller coaster at Coney Island again. Tony tried everything to keep Steve entertained. He tried podcasts, but Steve couldn't wear the headphones for long before starting to panic again. He tried word games, but those got boring pretty fast. He tried cooking together, but even though that was almost fun, Steve's appetite was all but nonexistent, and when he didn't want to eat any of what they made, both their interests waned.

Eventually, they figured out that Steve's serum-powered memory meant he could play a lot of board games based on Tony's descriptions alone, and they past almost the entirety of the third day with chess game after chess game.

Steve pushed. He knew he was doing it, but every time Tony spoke, nasty words slammed up against the back of Steve's teeth and volleyed for position to be the first one out. And Steve couldn't see Tony's face, couldn't study his expression, so open, so easy to read normally, so he felt completely at sea when it came to Tony's reactions. 

It was easier to lash out because then he knew Tony was angry. And angry was something he could relate to.

And yet… Tony kept coming back.

**

Steve kept it together. He smiled when the other Avengers made him food. He thanked Thor when he helped lead him to the door. He told Natasha he was feeling better.

He started swallowing down the rage that flared up whenever Tony entered the room.

Then he woke up on the fifth day since his accident, still completely blind.

Steve made it as far as the toaster in his apartment before it all came crashing down. He crumpled to the floor, knees drawn up against his chest. It was day five, and the whole world was still nothing but a black hole. He wasn't getting his sight back. He was broken forever, useless. All he'd ever been good for was fighting, and now he didn't have that. He'd never throw the shield again, never fight for his country, for his people. He couldn't even fall back to who he'd been before the serum and make art. He was nothing.

The first sob ripped its way out of Steve's chest with a ragged knife edge, but once it was free, the others poured out afterwards, through the same gap between his ribs. Hot tears flooded from his empty eyes, and he let them fall to the cool tile beneath him. 

"Call Tony," he managed to gasp through the tightening clench of a cold fist around his lungs.

It took four hundred and seventy-two beats of his heart for the door to open and Tony's footsteps to cross the kitchen floor. "Oh god, Steve," he gasped out, and warm hands landed on Steve's knees.

The familiar rage welled up, but its fire couldn't fight the ice-filled waves of despair that buffeted Steve's heart. He wanted to yell, to shove Tony away. He wanted to not need him, but instead he grabbed the front of Tony's t-shirt - soft and well-worn - and pulled himself into his arms. Tony gathered him up, somehow managing to get all of Steve curled up in his hold, and buried his face in his hair. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. 

"It's not coming back, is it?" Steve gasped out, and Tony held him closer.

"I don't know, Steve, I don't know."

_ "Fuck -" _ A fresh wave of nauseating agony rushed up high in Steve's chest, and he choked through it, face pressed into Tony's chest, soaking the front of his shirt. Tony smelled like oranges and spicy mustard, and that was grounding somehow. Steve breathed him in, trying to calm, but when the sobbing abated, he started to shake, and he couldn't stop.

Tony soothed his palm flat over Steve's back, muttering comforting nonsense. Steve hauled himself up, still shaking, and wiped his cheeks with the backs of his hands. He lifted his shirt to rub at his face, and only realized a moment later that Tony could still see and he'd basically just flashed him. "Sorry," he muttered, not exactly sure what he was apologizing for.

"Don't apologize," Tony said softly. He landed his hands on Steve's shoulders, the way he did to let him know he was close, going to touch, and then his hands skated up Steve's neck, around his ears. Thumbs smoothed over Steve's cheeks, wiping the last of the tears away. "You're allowed to be scared, Steve. You're allowed to be angry, and hurting, and scared. And you're allowed to ask for comfort. Do you want to go lie down somewhere?"

Steve nodded, and Tony's hands slid down to find his. He pulled Steve to his feet then used both hands to guide him through the apartment. Steve blushed when he realized they were heading towards his bedroom instead of towards the couch. His pillows and blankets were still a mess from his nightly sleepless nest. 

Tony paused somewhere near the doorway. "Is this okay?"

"If you're okay," Steve said. He didn't deserve this after everything he'd said, everything he'd done.

"I thought we might be more comfortable in here."

"You're going to stay with me?" Steve couldn't help the squeeze of his hands in Tony's.

"As long as you want me," Tony said simply, and Steve trapped the  _ forever  _ behind his teeth, squishing it flat with his tongue and swallowing it back down. 

Tony urged Steve onto the bed, and Steve huddled there awkwardly, listening to Tony rummaging around in the room but not able to discern what he was doing. "I'm right here," Tony suddenly said, appearing by Steve's shoulder. Steve managed not to jolt. "Give me your hand - it's wet," he said nonsensically.

Steve held his hand out, and a warm, damp face cloth dropped into it. 

"Figured it was nicer than dragging you to the bathroom."

Steve washed his face gratefully, instantly feeling refreshed, but now that the despair from earlier had waned, he felt his cheeks heat, and he squirmed uncomfortably. This was what he'd been trying to prevent, Tony seeing him this way. And now Tony was here, and he didn't seem inclined to leave, and Steve could feel the prickling in his throat that warned that he might not actually be all cried out yet. 

But he desperately, painfully, didn't want Tony to leave, and not being able to see the wince of pity cross Tony's face made it easier to let go in front of him.

Once he had cleaned up, Tony rustled around a bit longer then climbed up onto the bed beside Steve. Steve's flush flared hotter as Tony tugged him up against his side. "Come on," Tony said, a smile in his voice. "Too late to get shy now, Rogers. I was promised a cuddle."

Steve shook his head, smiling too, and shuffled up until they were pressed side-to-side. "I made no such promise," but he let Tony wriggle them down together. 

Steve closed his eyes so the world was dark on purpose, and thought about how it could have been, how it should have been between them. The thing they'd been building had been knocked down in its infancy, like a sandcastle confronted by a bully. A great, gaping hole where sneaky glances and cocky eyebrows had sat. Now Steve couldn't see Tony's face, his hands. He was so  _ expressive,  _ and now every sentence was only half of one without the quirk at the corner of Tony's lips or the tightness to his shoulders to fill in the rest.

They had been destined towards something great and now… now this was what they had. Pity. Caretaking.

Steve had wanted to hold Tony's hand and run into the next adventure, and instead Tony was holding his hand and leading him to the bathroom. It was disappointing in a way that Steve couldn't look too closely at for fear of losing it completely again. But there was no arguing against the fact that what they'd had before had been shattered, and what they were building now - whatever it ended up being - was going to be something else entirely.

Tony stayed all day. He never made it feel like he was bored or uncomfortable, but then again, Steve couldn't see his face so who knew what he was projecting to the rest of the room. He ordered takeout, putting each dish in Steve's hands with an explanation of what was in it, cycling them out as Steve finished with each one, somehow hungry for the first time since the explosion. 

Tony turned nature documentaries on low then described them to Steve with his own - inaccurate but hilarious - closed captioning. He had a long way to go to David Attenborough, but he got Steve snorting and giggling - so unexpected that the first hiccough of laughter made him grab his chest in surprise - and that felt like it was worth a million bucks. And there were more after the first, and then they wouldn't stop, and by the time Tony told him it was late, Steve was sporting a smile that didn't feel like it was peeling away at the edges.

"Can I stay here tonight?" Tony asked

It shouldn't have been an unexpected question, but it brought Steve up to a halt anyway. He'd resigned himself to another horrible night, and he wasn't sure if having Tony there would tip it the other way, or slam it fully into disaster.

He didn't want Tony to see him broken and confused. He didn't want to hurt him if the nightmares twisted everything around and made Steve lash out in fear. He didn't want it to be obvious how weak he was, how poorly he was handling it, and it was harder, so much harder, to hide at night.

But despite all that, he didn't want to let Tony go either. He wanted to curl up together in bed, and continue talking, continue sneaking comforting touches to the back of Tony's hand, to his wrist, to his thigh. 

And desire won out, dragging denial in with it to tell Steve that he wouldn't have the nightmares if Tony was there, and Steve said, "Sure," and wasn't sure if he regretted it or not.

Tony helped him to the bathroom, laid out everything he would need, tapping Steve's finger over each one so he'd know where it was, then left him to it, saving Steve the humiliation of having his teeth brushed for him, or worse.

It took forever, but Steve managed to work his way through his bathroom routine, leaving the counter in a state he couldn't even imagine but finding it hard to care. When he emerged, Tony was there, guiding him to the bed. Tony's breath already smelled like mint, and his hairline was damp, so Steve assumed he'd made use of the smaller bathroom by the front door while Steve was struggling through his own toilette. 

There was no shyness when they climbed in bed together. Tony didn't hover awkwardly on his side of the bed or turn away to click the light out and not come back. He waited until Steve was settled then draped himself over his chest, the edge of the arc reactor digging into Steve's bicep in a wonderfully real way. 

It was a bit too hot and a bit too sticky, and it wasn't long before Steve's fingers tingled with pins and needles from the cut-off blood flow, but it was also perfect. And Steve sunk deep in the perfection of Tony's closeness while the cold side of him, hung out of a duvet that rucked up and couldn't seem to be fixed, mourned that this was a tame mockery of what could have been.

**

Steve woke with a gasp that caught like a fish hook in his throat, and he coughed and scrambled, trying to get free of it. Tony's warm hands landed on his shoulders. "Shh, Steve, just breathe, you're okay."

Fire crackled over Steve's skin, but he forced himself to breathe through it, ignoring Tony until the urge to scream at him and shove him out of the room abated. 

"Do you want me to go?" Tony asked in such a small voice that the corner of Steve's fear peeled back and he found the strength to reach out and wind their hands together. Tony's fingers tightened around his and it was like a tether to everything okay and whole and real, and the dark receded, just a little. 

"Don't go," Steve managed, voice pack-a-day rough.

Tony squeezed in response. "I'm here."

"JARVIS?" Steve said, when the lump in his throat shrunk enough that he could get it out. 

"You're in Avengers Tower, Captain Rogers. It's four twenty-six on June twentieth, and it's currently raining outside. You're in your apartment with Mr. Stark who is beside you, holding your hand. No one else is in your apartment and the door is secure."

"Except the jade plant…" Steve said to his knees.

"Yes, sir. Which I believe needs to be watered."

Steve snorted out a laugh, startling even himself. He heard Tony laugh beside him as well, and then Tony's thumb stroked over the back of his hand. Steve's fear cracked and his sheer frustration leaked through, pushing a tear out of his eye, and once one was free, others rushed to follow. It was utterly humiliating, and Steve considered rolling over onto his side, burrowing his face into his pillow and ignoring Tony until he left, but Tony slid closer, and Steve collapsed into his hold, folding down onto the sheets, wound together.

Tony didn't hesitate to wrap himself around Steve, soothing him softly, his breath rough and laboured too. Tony wiped a thumb over Steve's cheek, and he was close enough now that Steve could feel the heat of his breath on his lips. Steve swallowed hard, heart in his throat, and then Tony's mouth brushed against his.

"No…" Steve murmured, and Tony pulled back instantly but only as far as Steve's locked arms would allow.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself," Tony said, a warm smile laced into his words again. His thumb followed his lips, as if he could wipe away the kiss too.

Steve shook his head. "I don't want your pity, Tony." But even as he said it, Steve leaned forward and caught Tony in another kiss, a proper one this time. Tony hummed and melted into it, fingers carding back through Steve's hair.

"S'not pity," he said when they pulled apart. 

Steve scoffed. "How could you want me like this? Not like this, Tony. It's okay..." If this was all he'd get, he'd take it, apparently.

Tony shuffled closer, a mystery of too many arms and legs until suddenly he was settled against Steve's chest, and Steve could feel every perfect, warm inch of him. "Always want you," Tony said with absolute confidence, sure and inevitable as tumbling over a waterfall. "Always. Every way." He cupped Steve's cheeks, kissed him again, then pulled back a few scant inches. "Steve. I hope your sight comes back, I do, of course I do. I want that so badly for you. It's hurting me every minute to watch you suffer through this. But I need you to know that if it doesn't? I will still love you, always love you. When you can't see, when you can't walk, when you're so angry that you can't think straight. I love you through all of that. You don't have to kiss me. You don't have to let me sleep here with you. I know that's where we were headed before all of this, but that doesn't mean you have to be okay with it now. You don't have to kiss me, but you sure as shit have to let me love you because that's not something I can turn off."

Steve choked on his next breath. The blood in his veins was lava, boiling and rolling through him, and he could feel tracks of salty tears cascading down his cheeks again. Tony loved him. "Oh god," he choked out. "Say it again."

"I love you." Tony punctuated it with a kiss, and Steve hauled him into his arms.

"I treated you so badly when I came home. I'm so sorry."

Tony sighed, and Steve braced for the lie, for the denial, for  _ you didn't, it's okay.  _ But instead, Tony kissed his forehead and said, plainly, "You did. And I forgive you."

Gratitude poured into every spare inch of Steve's body. "Tony… I thought I ruined it. I thought we missed our chance," he gasped through wet kisses.

"We didn't miss anything," Tony assured him. He guided Steve's arms around his waist, slid his own hands up Steve's chest. "We can have whatever we want. What do you want, Steve? Do you want to be mine?"

"Yes. I want that." More than almost anything. In fact, if given the choice between his sight back and Tony, Steve was pretty sure he'd pick Tony. "I want you, please."

"I am all yours, sweetheart. I always have been."

And Steve wanted to look at him, wanted to study Tony's face in the glow of a bedside lamp, watch his lashes flutter shut when Steve stroked over his skin, see his cheeky smirk when Steve's hand slipped lower. But he couldn't. He grumbled, frustrated, and plucked at Tony's clothes. "I need to feel you."

Tony stripped off his shirt immediately, straddling Steve's thighs. He tossed it aside then eased Steve out of his too and bent down to press their bare chests together, pulling Steve into more fiery kisses.

Steve let his hands wander, feeling everything he couldn't see. The bump of Tony's hip bent into firm muscle, an enticing crease that funneled down under his waistband. Steve's palm tucked perfectly around the bottom of Tony's ribs. His other hand found the sharp edge of Tony's jaw, the rough scratch of his beard, and he traced every inch of it, committing it to memory.

"Hey, Steve?" Tony said softly. "Where are we headed tonight? Do you want sex?"

Steve gaped at him, at a loss. He hadn't exactly been driving with any kind of road map, but as soon as the idea was presented to him, his body shuddered to attention with a furious yes vote. "Can we?" he asked, then blushed at how high school that sounded. 

But when Tony laughed, it was affectionate and not mocking. "Well, we are two consenting adults with all the necessary equipment. So, yes, we can. If that's what you want."

"Yes…" Steve stroked his hands down Tony's sides then up his thighs to his hips. "But -" he cut off. Steve'd had sex - he was ninety, not dead - but not a lot of it and not a lot of it with men, and even less of it in the 21st-century. He wasn't sure what was okay to say, to ask for, if there were things people didn't mention these days.

"Just say it, Steve," Tony encouraged gently, but without artifice. "Tell me what you want, and I'll tell you what I'm up for."

It sounded simple, when he said it like that, so Steve steeled himself and tried. "I want our faces to be close so I can hear you. And I like it either way, but I don't want to be inside you if I can't see your face." Steve realized that that sounded like he was limiting their sex life forever if his eyesight never came back. "I mean for now, this time," he added hastily. "I just need to be able to know that you're okay the whole time, whatever we do. I need a way to stay here with you…" Steve trailed off feeling as crazy as that sounded. 

"Okay, sweetheart," Tony said, his words a delicate lace of warm affection and understanding. "Let's start slow then. Here." Tony leaned forward and stretched out over Steve's chest, propped up on one elbow. Steve fluttered his fingers over Tony's body to get a mental image of the way he was lying, one leg thrown over Steve's hip. Tony slid his hand down Steve's chest, then slipped his fingers under Steve's waistband, stroking the skin he found there.

And as they fell into each other, Steve found that at the time when he thought he'd miss it the most, he didn't care that he couldn't see. Tony's gasps and moans were delicious as Steve took them both in hand, and Steve plucked each one out of the air and pressed it inside himself like a flower between the pages of a beloved book.   

Tony brushed his lips against Steve's ear, his hand covering over Steve's, guiding it as they rushed towards mutual completion. Words poured out of him, words of encouragement and love and affection and understanding. And they filled all the cracks Steve had been helplessly, hopelessly trying to hold together over the last few days, a better binding than whatever spit and duct tape he'd managed to scrounge up.

And when Tony's lips and breath against his ear and Tony's hand against his own and Tony's skin against his bare chest became too much, and Steve tumbled over the edge, reaching out and taking Tony with him, his world exploded in fireworks. Because even in this pitch black world, Tony found the colour.

The rolled together for a while after, fingers dipping into every dip and crease they could find on each other, exploring, petting, stroking. Feeling the heave of Tony's breath and knowing that he'd done that, brought Tony there, swelled something warm and grounding in Steve's stomach. He ran a finger around the edge of the arc reactor, solid and unrelenting in contrast to the soft give of Tony's skin. It was warm, like Steve could feel the blue light washing over his hand and he caught it in his palm and held it, trapped between Tony's heart and his. 

Tony stretched out at Steve's side, and it wasn't long before his rapid breathing slowed and steadied and he drifted into the soft ease of sleep. It was wonderfully peaceful, having Tony sleeping beside him, even if Steve couldn't join as easily. He curled on his side and kept the fingers of one hand splayed over the stiff, metal edge of the reactor, hand full of light, feeling the even rise and fall of Tony's breath all night. 

Steve dared the nightmares to come for him when he was wrapped in Tony's arms, taunted them to try and sneak past this defense. He was shielded, with Tony's warmth there beside him, and when he closed his weary, unseeing eyes, he finally found rest.

**

"Can you take me up to the roof?" Steve asked. 

Tony's fingers paused where they'd been sliding over Steve's chest. Steve lay flat on the bed, naked save for his boxers, one hand gripped possessively around Tony's knee. Tony sat cross legged beside him, and as far as Steve could tell, he'd spent the last two hours inspecting every inch of Steve's body with curious fingertips. It was the closest to pure relaxation Steve had experienced since the accident.

"The roof?" Tony's voice was tight.

"I need fresh air but I'm not ready to be seen in public like this yet." Steve hoped that implied that someday he would be ready, that this injury wasn't going to bind him to solitude forever, but for now, he could only imply. He wasn't ready to make promises.

"Okay. If you're sure." But there was still something knotted in Tony's tone, and when he moved to slide off the bed, Steve caught his wrist.

"I know I scared you the other day, and I'm sorry. I need you to know that I'd never hurt myself, not on purpose, and I definitely wouldn't involve you."

Tony laughed tightly. "Oh, what? You think I was over here panicking, wondering if you wanted me to bring you to the roof so you could kiss me goodbye and fling yourself off of it? Ha. That's funny."

"Tony… I wouldn't."

"I know…. It's not a rational fear, Steve. I know you wouldn't do that."

"We don't have to go up."

"No, no. You need the fresh air. Let's go. I'll hold your hand the whole time so you won't fall."

_ Won't jump,  _ Steve altered in his head. But he needed that tether too.

Tony took his hand, and Steve crowded up tightly against his back as they made their way to the elevator. The second they stepped out on the roof, the wind whipped around Steve, tossing his hair in the air, and he clung to Tony, feeling woozy and off-balance without his vision to tell him he wasn't tumbling off the edge. Tony held on tight, guiding Steve across the asphalt until his brain told him he was too close to the edge and his feet simply refused to move anymore.

Despite how terrifying it was, it felt good too. The wind was wild and heavy, blowing through the seams in Steve's shirt and whipping away the last few days. 

Tony maneuvered them around so Steve was facing into the wind with Tony plastered to his back, arms clasped around his waist. "This is what flying feels like," Tony whispered into Steve's ear, the wind darting in and trying to snatch the words away before he could catch them.

Steve pressed closer, back against Tony's chest. "Feels a bit like falling."

"Well, flying is just falling with style, Rogers."

Steve grinned, and the wicked air sucked the moisture from his mouth immediately. "I understood that reference."

Tony hooked his chin over Steve's shoulder. "There's a cloud up there that looks like your ass."

Steve snorted. "No there isn't."

"There is, it's amazing. I'm really glad we came up here. You know, they say nature is a beautiful thing, but I don't know that I've ever really been able to appreciate it until now. Cause that's really - ah - just stunning, I don't know how else to put it. God, in his infinite wisdom -"

"Okay!" Steve cut him off, laughing now. "Okay, we can go back inside."

"No, no. I read in 'The Proper Care and Feeding of Boyfriends' that you need to be walked twice a day, so here we are. I can't fuck this up on my first day, Steven."

"Ugh." Steve turned in his arms, nose wrinkling. "Don't call me that."

"You don't like Steven?"

"Boyfriend."

There was a moment's hesitation, then Tony's hands slipped down his sides, curled over his hipbones, and tucked into Steve's back pockets. "What, then? Partner,  _ looooover,  _ boy toy? Ooo, 'fella'? Is that what you used to call it?"

Steve pushed Tony, grinning, back in the direction he thought the elevators were in. Tony took both his hands and readjusted their trajectory. 

"Baby? Sweetie pie? Darling? Other half? Spouse? Oh my, how forward of you, Steven, I haven't even said yes yet. And where's my ring?"

They tumbled into the elevator, Steve's skin stinging from the aftershocks of the wind. He bent down and kissed Tony on the end of his nose, only missing by a few millimeters. "Okay, don't call me Steven either, that's getting weird."

"Pet? Sweetheart -" Tony said at the same moment that Steve said, "Partner." And then added, "Oh." Steve felt his cheeks heat.

"Partner's good. Why the 'oh'?"

"Um. Partner's good for other people, but, uh -" Steve fought a rising flush and lost. "I like the sound of sweetheart when it's just us," he muttered, dropping his chin towards the floor. Fingers curled around his jaw and lifted until their lips met. 

"Sweetheart it is," Tony murmured against his skin. "You are, you know. My sweetheart."

"Tony…" The next several floors clicked by in a haze of lips and tongue. Steve licked coffee off the roof of Tony's mouth, wondering when he'd managed to drink coffee this morning. They stumbled back out of the elevator and into Steve's apartment, no doubt looking like they'd been through a tumble dryer set to fluff. Steve could feel his hair sticking up oddly, and when he ran his hands through Tony's, it was a wild mess. His cheeks stung, and he didn't know if it was from the wind or from the heat Tony stoked up in his veins.

"Could you do something weird for me and not question it too much?" Steve asked.

"Of course."

"Could you get me my sketchbook and pencils?"

They ended up on the couch, Tony tucked up at one end, Steve sprawled along it lengthways, his bare toes tucked under Tony's thigh. Steve wasn't sure what Tony was doing, but every now and then, he could hear his fingers tapping on a screen. 

Steve opened his sketchbook at the back so he'd be sure to have a blank page then took a pencil at random and just… drew. He didn't try to make shapes, sure he'd be frustrated no matter what. Instead, he revelled in the familiarity of a pencil catching on the fibres of the paper, of the clenching and rolling of the tendons in his wrist as he let the lead dance over the page wherever it wished to go. It was nothing but a mess of scribbles, he knew that, but it was nice to feel, nonetheless.

"Why do you keep scratching your eye?"

"What?" Steve shook himself out of the odd trance the random sketching had put him in.

"You keep stopping to scratch your left eye." Tony shifted on the couch, and Steve stilled, trying to plot out where he was moving to. His fingers landed lightly on Steve's cheek under his left eye. "Is it bothering you?"

Steve blinked furiously and realized that his eyelid was like sandpaper. "Yeah… it's -" He ground his fist in and scrubbed, but couldn't find relief. "There's - I -" He blinked again.

"What?"

"Tony…" Steve reached up and covered his eye with his hand. Then he moved it away. He covered it again. Moved it away. Each time,  _ something  _ changed. "I - I think I can - There's a bit of light coming through…"

"What?!" Tony nearly crushed him in his scramble to move, and Steve knocked his sketchbook aside and caught Tony around his middle. Tony reached up and did the same, covering Steve's eye, then uncovering it, and Steve knew because the dark wasn't quite so dark when Tony's hand moved away. 

"Covered," Steve said softly. "Uncovered."

Tony choked into a laugh, and Steve tipped in after him, not entirely sure if he was laughing or crying. Tony burrowed his face into Steve's chest. 

"It itches," Steve said brokenly, and Tony sat up again.

He kissed over each of Steve's eyelids. "It's healing. Stop rubbing."

"It's healing," Steve echoed.

"You're healing."

Steve sucked in a raggedy breath. "It might not heal all the way."

"No… It might not."

"But there's something."

"There's something. And I'm not going to give up hoping."

"And you'll love me no matter what?"

"I'll love you no matter what," Tony affirmed. "Sweetheart."

"I love you too, Tony. God, did I never say that? I do. I love you. Thank you. Thank you for everything you've done for me."

"You're welcome." Tony draped over him and kissed him again, then danced his fingers above Steve's eyes, making the darkness flicker and jump. "Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"When you're all the way healed…" Tony dropped his hand down to stroke over Steve's cheek then his chest, fingers teasing.

"Yeah?" Steve's breath caught as Tony's hand slipped lower.

He leaned in to whisper in Steve's ear. "I'm going to buy you all the dinosaur gummies they have."

Laughter erupted out of Steve's chest and he grabbed around Tony's waist and hauled him off the couch, tumbling them both to the carpet in a mess of laughter and limbs and love and promise.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER: Steve begins to regain his sight at the very end, but it's left open (with hope) how much of it he'll get back. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! You can follow me on tumblr at festiveferret.tumblr.com <3


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